


a madder sky

by riseelectric



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Artistic Liberties, Gen, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Organized Crime, Violence, haiba lev - Freeform, kamasaki yasushi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:37:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9459536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseelectric/pseuds/riseelectric
Summary: Iwaizumi is taken captive by his arch-nemesis, which turns out to be more complicated than he thought it would be. Succinctly put in two words: wretched, and ill-advised. Yes, Hajime decides,wretchedly ill-advisedcertainly sums up his life very well.[hiatus]





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1) prisoner AU feat. inspector iwaizumi and (tentatively titled) crime lord oikawa  
> 2) tags (characters/relationships/warnings) will be continually updated by the chapter  
> 3 ) ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

The warehouse by the waterfront isn't much to look at by itself. It's part of a series of dilapidated buildings erected by the shoreline, all of them having enough accumulated time and neglect that the edges of the silhouette are jagged and broken. A single flickering line of streetlamps casts a baleful yellow glow, glinting off the edges of cracked, empty windows, broken metal, and exposed foundations. In contrast, the Hirose sparkles gently in the moonlight, a beautiful and inappropriate backdrop to one of the shadiest places Iwaizumi has ever set foot in.

Iwaizumi taps his fingers against the steering wheel of his car, sighing. This is his day off. He really shouldn't be here, not without backup, or at least letting _some_ one know where he is. Hanamaki, at the very least.

After another moment of lip-biting, he turns on his phone. Opens a specific app and sets his phone to automatically send Hanamaki a text if Iwaizumi doesn't nullify the command himself by 1am.

 _Followed a lead down by the river near the empty field south of Nishisendai Hospital. If_ _you receive this text, something went wrong. Call Kamasaki. Phone is GPS enabled._

He plugs the phone into its backup charger, tossing both of them onto floor of the passenger seat beside him so they're less visible. He turns off the engine, leaving in his keys in case he needs a quick getaway.

Honestly, there's no sign to show that there's really no need for such precaution, but Iwaizumi's learnt that when dealing with the syndicate that calls itself Aoba Johsai, it's better to be safe than sorry. The lead he's following is less of a lead and more of hunch than anything else, the tail-end of a message he'd managed to tap after weeks of fruitlessness. When he'd decoded it late last night, all it showed was coordinates. A location in the middle of nowhere, nothing more.

Kamasaki Yasushi's expression had just been as skeptical as Iwaizumi had felt. He'd bitten down on the stub of his cigarette, lit another and offered it to Iwaizumi without having been asked, and then blew smoke into Iwaizumi's face. "We've staked out this place already," his partner -- a temporary transfer from the Date Tech Division -- had said, running a hand over his stubbly chin. "We're still monitoring it, aren't we? With the remote cameras Tsukishima's asshole little brother set up?"

Iwaizumi can't help chuckling a little at Kamasaki's choice of adjective. There's no doubt that Tsukishima Kei's consultant and surveillance work is invaluable to the police force of Sendaikita; it's precisely why Akiteru's kid brother is currently them charging at  _eleven_  times his usual rate. (They'd thought on account of Kei being Sendaikita's resident Good Cop's sibling, they'd maybe wrangle some kind of discount. They'd thought wrong.) "Mm, yeah."

"And nothing's showed up all this time."

"...no, nothing has. I know."

"Hell, we've been there. Remember? Only a month ago? Nothing but some old empty warehouses near the river. It's a place where kids dare each other to explore at midnight, and stupid shit like that."

Iwaizumi rubs his eyes with the palm of his hands, the cigarette Kamasaki'd given him clamped between his teeth. The cancerous particles he willingly inhales into his lungs keeps his fingers steady. "I _know_ , Kamasaki."

"So what the hell's got your jimmies so rustled about this particular place, eh?"

Iwaizumi runs his hand through his hair, frustrated and restless. His somber mood, momentarily lifted at the mention of the younger Tsukishima brother, settles back down like the weight of the world on his shoulders. He doesn't need to look at his partner to know that Kamasaki's worried about the semi-permanent bags under his eyes and the exhausted frown that he now wore 24/7.

The past nine months haven't been easy on Iwaizumi; the disappearance of his former partner and protege, Akaashi Keiji, still weighs heavily on his mind. He thinks the loss will linger there for a very long time. Akaashi had left nothing concrete that would help track him down. He'd simply _gone_ , without any sign of a struggle, without a single note, his cell phone disconnected and every money and digital trail leading nowhere. Iwaizumi had _searched_ , pooled all his not-inconsiderable resources into finding the younger man, but after three and a half months of fruitlessness, it seemed he had no choice but to accept the fact that Akaashi -- or his body -- would not be found. Iwaizumi's suspicions had been directed heavily at Seijoh, and even now he still hasn't completely let that go, but as the days turned into weeks turned into months, he had been forced to face one fact: that there was a complete and utter lack of evidence that Aoba Johsai had been responsible. Other than the fact that Iwaizumi has been hunting down members of Seijoh and that Akaashi was his partner, there was simply no motive for the syndicate to target Akaashi specifically. He hadn't even been working on the Aoba Johsai cases Iwaizumi was assigned to, preferring to work independently on other cases that he could close quickly and effectively.

The two of them hadn't been paired together long. It'd only been a little over a year, but out of all the people he's been assigned with, the younger man had been the one Iwaizumi had made a real connection with. They'd been _partners_ , their steadfast and practical natures gravitating towards each other and meshing together perfectly. They'd been on each other's wavelength, their partnership effortlessly seamless. Akaashi was responsible, down-to-earth, infinitely reliable, clever and intuitive. He knew when to enable Iwaizumi, when to pull him back. Iwaizumi trusted him with his life.

They'd been more than just partners. They'd been _friends_. Iwaizumi had liked Akaashi, very much. He'd suspected that, with enough time, that _like_ might have one day even have developed into something more. Iwaizumi had _known_ him.

Or thought he did, at least.

Nine months. Nine whole months, and counting. The continued lack of a body and any sign of foul play gradually lead Iwaizumi to the only conclusion that made sense: that Akaashi had chosen to leave, for whatever reason. That did happen, sometimes. Not every missing person wanted to be found.

Iwaizumi just wishes he knew why.

He shakes his head. "I don't know, all right? It just seems too out of the blue, somehow. Seijoh never transmits repeats of messages. We've been at a deadlock for weeks, and all of a sudden this specific coordinate makes its way through our filters? It's too, well, sudden."

Kamasaki frowns. Iwaizumi can tell he wants to rolls his eyes, but the fact of the matter remains that after systemically whittling down and thwarting Aoba Johsai for the past three years, Iwaizumi's instincts have generally been pretty spot on when it comes to the syndicate. For the past two years, Iwaizumi's been the lead investigator of the Seijoh case files. He'd made inspector on the capture of Sugawara Koushi, a heavy blow against Seijoh. Not only that, but he'd been the one to shoot Seijoh's fabled leader during the hostage incident with Hinata Shouyou. They'd almost gotten him then. Almost.

Oikawa Tooru. Oikawa _fucking_ Tooru. Iwaizumi would peg him as some kind of yakuza boss, except that title went to Ushijima Wakatoshi of the Shiratorizawa syndicate. Oikawa is more of a yakuza boss's boss. A grand king in every sense of the word. There's an entire cabinet of case files devoted to him in the NPA office, all of which managed to be at once astoundingly convoluted and notoriously useless. Iwaizumi would know; he's pored over them countless times, meticulously adding details to add to Oikawa's profile as his own investigations continue. Everything Iwaizumi uncovers serves to show him that beneath Oikawa's slick facade is a poisonous monster who dabbles and specialises in exactly those as his means of intimidation and coercion-- poisons, and biological weapons as well. Not that one would be able to tell from his looks. Despite the fact that his name is connected to several investigations spanning nearly two decades, the motherfucker has managed to project an air of carefree, youthful charm that is at once disarming and utterly appealing.

A beautiful smile on a handsome face. The first time Iwaizumi had come face to face with Oikawa -- during the hostage incident -- those had been his thoughts. He remembers it clearly.

He also remembers that same face twisting into a look of agony, a scream of pain ripping from Oikawa's throat as Iwaizumi shot him in the leg, his bullet disappearing into the back of Oikawa's right knee in a gout of red.

Kamasaki folds his arms. "I don't disagree, Iwaizumi, but just-- _argh_." He unfolds his arms again, trying to mold his body language into something less forceful. "Look. You have tomorrow off, don't you?" 

Iwaizumi scowls heavily at the reminder. "Yeah. The Chief Inspector is forcing me to use up my vacation days."

Kamasaki punches his arm, a grim smile on his face. "You're the only idiot who amasses enough of them to force Sawamura's hand like that." Then he grows serious once more. "Iwaizumi. If this really bothers you, I'll check it out with you on Monday, all right? We'll head out by the field again, double check the cameras, go through the warehouses again, whatever you need to do to let this go. I'm with you, I promise. But only if you take the weekend off, for once."

"Why not tomorrow?"

Kamasaki punches him again, this time hard enough to make Iwaizumi retaliate. (This sparks an impromptu exchange of mutual shoving until both of them remember that they're grown-ass men.) " _Because,_ it's your day off, and I'm getting smashed with my buddies at the bar tonight."

Iwaizumi stares at him incredulously. "Kamasaki, it's fucking Thursday."

Kamasaki waves his hand in a nonchalant way that Iwaizumi suspects is intended to assuage all of Iwaizumi's doubts, but only ends up having the opposite effect. "It'll be fine."

"God. I am _not_ replying to any of your drunken voicemails, you hear me? Or texts."

"I feel your love, Iwaizumi-kun. Just take tomorrow off properly, okay? I'll see you Monday."

Iwaizumi sighs in resignation, taking a long drag on his dwindling cigarette. "Yeah. Okay."

 

* * *

 

It was not okay.

Iwaizumi had tried, he really had, but there's a reason why he's never called in sick or used any of his vacation days until now, and one of those reasons is because he doesn't like using Friday nights for the purposes other people did. Other, normal people, with adjusted social lives and all that jazz. Sleeping in late had its appeal, and spending the afternoon with his and Hanamaki's dog (Glue Boy is the dog's name, and to this day Iwaizumi has never let Hanamaki name anything ever again) in the riverside park lets him doze off and relax in a way he hasn't since Akaashi had left. But by the time evening fell, Iwaizumi was antsy again. The coordinate wouldn't leave him alone, his mind coming back to it time and time again until finally Iwaizumi decides, fuck it. He's just going to go for a quick look at the warehouses by the riverfront.

He parks the car just outside of the circle of light the streetlamp closest to road casts. It's about nine pm, plenty of time for him to get back to the car in time to disable to auto-text command. Silently, like the shadow of a ghost, Iwaizumi makes his way across the field, his footsteps barely crunching on gravel and overgrown urban vegetation.

As he passes by one of the defunct utility poles where he knows Tsukishima had set up a camera, he pauses. Looks out over the three-quarter-view of the warehouse and frowns.

Something nags at him.

Something about the landscape is just... off.

He backtracks to the pole. Iwaizumi has to stack a couple of cinderblocks together before he has enough height to access the camera from where Tsukishima had placed it, but access it he does. He looks out over the view, and as he does, he realises what's wrong.

The scene the camera is currently pointed at is not the same view as the monitors. 

It's not that Iwaizumi has photographic memory, but he's certain that the view he'd looked at just yesterday did not have a truck and several vans in the picture, otherwise he'd have noticed. Suspicion rises like bile within him, and he hops down, creeping quickly to the vehicles and circling them, taking in every detail. A look at the mud-splattered wheels tells him everything.

The last time it'd rained hard enough to form mud was a week ago.

The vehicles have been here _at least seven days_ without any sign of them showing up on the monitors.

Someone is actively tampering with the surveillance system here.

Gritting his teeth, apprehension coursing its way through his veins, Iwaizumi keeps to the shadows as he mentally reminds himself to take it up with Tsukishima the fact that he apparently hadn't noticed his goddamn cameras being fucked with. As he steps quietly towards the door, another detail jumps out at him: there's a shiny new padlock to the warehouse door that certainly had not been there before.

Iwaizumi stops in his tracks. This is as far as he should go. Kamasaki can't possibly ignore the evidence now. Iwaizumi should leave, quit while he's ahead, get to the station immediately and return with backup. It would be the smart thing to do.

His eyes dart upwards, alighting on a window pane that's been punched right through the middle. Beyond its jagged edges is pure darkness, the light from the streetlamps unable to reach that far.

It's Friday night, Iwaizumi tells himself. Nothing smart is ever done on a Friday night.

Seven minutes later, Iwaizumi's feet alight gingerly onto a suspended metal gangway, arms trembling from the weight of lifting his entire body feet-first through the jagged aperture in the glass. Despite his care, the razor edge of a shard draws a line of blood across his cheek as he draws his head inside at last. Dammit. This place is dirty as hell, he'll have to remember to disinfect the cut later.

He squints into the darkness, letting his eyes slowly adjust until he can start making out outlines.

That in and of itself is another inconsistency, of course. Warehouse this sealed off, with such few windows? By rights, it should be absolutely pitch-black in here.

So where's the light source coming from?

Iwaizumi's hand strays briefly to the gun at his side, the weight of it on his hip an immeasurable comfort as always. Then he makes his way down from the gangway, making as little noise as possible as he steps further inside.

The state of the interior of the warehouse is little better than the outside. Still broken down and ramshackle, but unlike the last time Iwaizumi had set foot here, the formerly vast and empty space is now occupied by a multitude of metal shipping containers, each one sealed and stacked neatly. Carefully, Iwaizumi navigates his way around them, slowing his pace so the soles of his boots scrape as little as possible against the debris of powdered glass and dust that lay on the floor.

On the far side of the room is the light source. It's faint, and Iwaizumi can't tell what's making it with his view obstructed by the shipping containers, but he'll get to it soon enough. Now, he approaches the nearest container, leaning forwards to open its door. It swings open with the barest of creaks, revealing stacks of wooden crates. When Iwaizumi forces one open, he frowns.

He reaches in, lifts up a large glass jar from amidst heavy padding. It's impossible to make out what's inside, but whatever it is, it's heavy.

Iwaizumi shakes it a little. Nothing sloshes; from the shift and the subtle distribution of weight, he guesses it's some kind of powder.

Enough. This is definitely enough. It's imperative that he get back to the precinct, get this analysed. Anxiety, but also excitement is coursing through him. All those dead ends, all the weeks of futile searching, it was all worth it, for this.

Iwaizumi's on the edge of a breakthrough, he just knows it.

Hurriedly, he snaps several photos with the mini camera he always kept on his person, keeping the door behind him as close to closed as possible as the flash goes off. He covers his eyes with one forearm as he takes the photos, not wanting to have to readjust his sight. Once he's finished, he picks up the jar once more, tucking it securely under one arm.

He steps out of the container.

As soon as he does, a click echoes in the darkness. Before he can react, several floodlights on the floor turn on, the dizzying white glare disorienting him immediately as he gives a loud cry of shock. One arm comes back up to shield his face as he tries his best to get his useless vision to adjust. His other arm curls protectively around the jar held against his chest.

Footsteps surround him, at least three sets approaching from his eleven, nine, and six o' clock. Iwaizumi's teeth is gritted so hard he can almost hear the creak of his own enamel.

_'Dammit. This is bad.'_

Iwaizumi's apprehension cranks up several more notches when a voice breaks the silence, echoing a little in the vast space of the warehouse.

"Inspector Iwaizumi. Come on. Did you really think it would be that easy?" the man says, his features staying as disembodied as his voice while the owner stayed strategically just behind the floodlight. Still, Iwaizumi recognises it. How can he not, after countless hours of tapping this particular individual's phone lines? Yet even as he does, Iwaizumi's heart sinks in his chest.

 _'This is **really** bad' _ doesn't even begin to cut it anymore. Iwaizumi's never been one to lie to himself, and frankly he's in Deep Fucking Shit right now if Oikawa Tooru's second in command is here in person. To say that he'd severely miscalculated the situation is probably the understatement of the century.

Iwaizumi swallows, his throat so dry he feels the click. He's outnumbered, outflanked--

\--calm. He's got to stay calm. Figure this out, somehow.

"Kuroo Tetsurou." he calls back, knowing his own grim smile is all too visible under the curve of his forearm. "You know, actually I did?"

"Really? I pegged you as someone smarter than that."

"If you really thought that, you wouldn't have let me come this far."

A chuckle. "Heh. Got me there." He hears the figures in the darkness shift, and Iwaizumi doesn't need his sight to know that he's got the sights of three guns lined up towards him at this very instant. "Now then. Put down that jar, Inspector."

"Or what?"

"Or w--"

"Or we'll shoot you!"  interrupts a second voice, sounding far too cheerful at the prospect. There's a loud 'tsk!' of annoyance from Kuroo as laughter erupts from the third unknown figure.

"Hey, don't interrupt me when we have company over, Lev!"

"Ah, my bad!"

Kuroo turns his attention back to Iwaizumi. "What he said, though. I'll say it again, Inspector. Kindly put the jar down. If you do, I promise I'll let you go. Unharmed, even."

Iwaizumi laughs in his face. His vision is adjusting with every passing second. If he could just keep them talking...

"Cut the shit, Kuroo. I'm not an idiot." His grip on the jar tightens as all semblance of mirth disappears. "If you were going to shoot me, you'd have done so already. If you think I've forgotten that time in Shinjuku, think again."

He holds out the jar in the palm of his hand. It's heavy, the bottom wider than his palm, and he purposely wobbles a little as he holds it out. There's an audible intake of breath from the men surrounding him. Almost imperceptibly, he feels the atmosphere shift, the tension mounting exponentially. Iwaizumi's mouth opens, teeth glinting in a grim slash. They may have him pegged down, but that's not to say Iwaizumi hasn't done exactly the same for Seijoh.

"Now tell me what the fuck's in this jar, and why you're all so terrified at the thought of shattering it."

There's a pause, during which Iwaizumi strains his ears, trying to catch any sudden movements. They know he's right. He knows they know he's right. And they know he knows they know.

To Kuroo's credit, his voice is absolutely unfazed when he speaks up again.

"All right, Iwaizumi. I'll tell you." His voice dips, drops by several degrees, and when Iwaizumi hears the answer, his own blood freezes in his veins as well. His arm falls from his face in pure shock.

"What you've got right there in your hand, Iwaizumi," Kuroo says, absolutely frigid, "is five kilograms of weaponised anthrax. It's enough to infect roughly one hundred and twenty five thousand people."

Iwaizumi's momentarily stopped breathing. "That's--" he looks back at the shipping container he'd just vacated, aghast. Thinks about how there's four jars in a single crate, about how there's roughly twenty crates in one shipping container.

There's six shipping containers in this warehouse alone.

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"He's really not." adds Lev.

Forcibly, Iwaizumi drags himself out of his shock. He can't afford to be stunned right now.

He's not playing anymore; this is bigger than he could have thought possible. Fear and fury laces his words in equal measure as he spits back, trying to keep his revulsion under control. "And what the _fuck_ does Oikawa want with enough anthrax to kill off  _half the Japanese population_ with?"

"None of your business." Kuroo replies without missing a beat, smooth as silk. "Now, please _\--_  be careful with that jar."

Said jar is still balanced precariously in Iwaizumi's hand. So innocuous before, it now feels like the detonator to a time bomb. Iwaizumi's palm had been dry just moments before; it's suddenly slippery with sweat. His teeth gritted, he slowly brings the jar up to his chest again.

The one at his nine o'clock -- Lev -- lets out an audible sigh of relief.

...until Iwaizumi holds out the jar again, this time by its lid. His arm is outstretched, raised high.

"Iwaizumi--"

"I'm leaving," he announces, hoarsely. "Try to stop me, and I'll break this at your feet."

Kuroo scoffs. Iwaizumi doesn't really blame him. However which way you look at it, it's a rather pathetic attempt at an standoff. Iwaizumi finds it hard to believe that Kuroo hadn't seen this coming when he'd decided to reveal the contents of the jar, but at this point, Iwaizumi doesn't really see any other options that'll culminate with him getting out of this alive.

"Last I checked, anthrax spores didn't discriminate between those on the right and wrong sides of the law, Inspector. Don't you think this ultimatum is a little detrimental to your own health?"

"I'll gladly trade my life if it means taking out Oikawa's right hand man with me."

"I'm touched. But who'll be left to take on Aoba Johsai if you die, hmm?"

"I've got a wire on me. Been on live with my partner since I came in here. He knows everything I do." Iwaizumi bites back, and the lie is uttered with such conviction that he hears Lev let out a small hiss.

Unfortunately, and as fully expected of Seijoh's second in command, Kuroo doesn't buy it.

"You're a liar, Inspector."

"I'm not lying about smashing this jar."

Silence. 

Iwaizumi raises his arm higher, muscles tensed to drop the jar as hard as he can. He takes a step, and when a bullet doesn't send his brain matter splattering all over the warehouse floor, he makes the split-second decision to just _go,_ darting towards his right, towards where he knows the exit to be, just thirty paces away.

He hasn't taken five steps when the spotlights on him are suddenly shut off, the transition from too-bright to pitch-blackness crashing down on him so suddenly it feels like a heavy black cloth has just been dropped over his eyes. Fuck, once more he's _blind_ , momentarily rendered defenseless.

In a cold, abstract part of his mind, Iwaizumi comes to the only conclusion that explains why Kuroo is willing to subject himself and his companions to the sudden transition of light and dark: they're equipped with some kind of tech that allows them night vision. _Obviously._

On pure instinct, Iwaizumi flings himself to the side, rebounding off the palm of his free hand, ignoring the crushed glass shards of the warehouse that cut into his flesh. Not a second later, the sound of a bullet whizzes past him. Heart hammering in his ears, he scrambles back up, his eyes darting frantically for the exit.

Behind him, Kuroo is yelling at Lev about _being more careful, idiot, if that jar breaks we're fucked,_ and Iwaizumi knows this is his window of opportunity, that he must make the most of Kuroo's brief disorientation to get the fuck out.

 _There._ Past the spots dancing behind his eyes, Iwaizumi sees the outline of the warehouse door. He can make it, he knows he can. His heels dig into the floor, grounding against glass and debris, finding purchase as he picks up speed.

Twenty-five paces away from freedom.

Twenty paces.

Ten steps.

Just as Iwaizumi feels something like hope flicker in his chest, someone steps out of the darkness and into the entrance. The streetlights spilling in from the outside form a halo around him, making his face impossible to see as Iwaizumi skids to a halt, snarling aloud in fury and frustration. To that, the man before him seems to grin. He spreads his hands.

"You know," the figure in his way says conversationally, "I'm not actually here to fight you. I only came here to be emotional support."

Iwaizumi fingers the edge of the glass. The weight of his loaded gun on his hip is calling to him. Behind him, he senses Kuroo and Lev closing in. There's no arguing it; he is officially all out of options.

"Let's make this fast. I'm planning on breakfast at home tomorrow." Iwaizumi snaps.

And he _hurls_ the jar.

 


End file.
